Moon La La Light
by Lord Kristine
Summary: Like ketchup on cake.


It was sunny for the tenth day in a row, at least, though it was impossible to say for certain, because it seemed to be perpetually warm in Los Angeles, city of angels and stars. The line of vehicles crowning the tangle of freeways and roads was moving so slowly that each car might as well have belonged to an automotive wax museum. It was as though someone had paused all the physical objects of world, only time was still passing at a regular speed, which was a problem for many. Almost everyone trapped in this metal tableau had somewhere to be, and if they didn't, they had a desire to escape their vehicles anyway. Whether they would be happier in a different setting- their crummy flats, for example- was uncertain, since humans have a tendency to complain about their circumstances without considering the alternative, which could very well be ten times worse. For example, one could suffer the effects of a radioactive shark bite, but there are many stretches of time when the worry of contracting radiation poisoning from sharks might not enter a person's mind, nor the billions of other terrible fates one could encounter at any given moment. When a person complains about traffic, their concerns may be genuine from their own point of view, but their qualms would be illegitimate compared to the suffering of others. Of course, it would be wonderful to live in a world where traffic was the most severe problem a person could face, but the fact of the matter is that even if this became true, the simple act of adjusting the scale of suffering would make traffic instigate the same grief as a radioactive shark bite on the current barometer of suffering.

Not that such a scale exists.

In reality, pain can only be measured through comparison, and this mechanism delegitimizes anything below the highest point, by design. A sore tooth seems like the end of the world until you break your leg. This concept can be applied to interpersonal pain, as well as the aforementioned intrapersonal pain. We are told that giving birth is agony, and this is true, but there's something fascinating about the notion that we can acknowledge the insignificance of our greatest pain (from our perspective) by believing in nothing more than an idea (from our perspective), as we cannot truly feel the pain of others until we've been through the same thing. Sympathy and empathy are characteristics of highly evolved organisms. Although some capable creatures function without these features, humans value emotionality over intelligence in themselves and in other animals. Sentiment is, after all, the restraining factor of our species, and intelligence unchecked can be a very dangerous thing indeed.

On the other hand, emotionality may lead to spirited cussing on the freeway, as was the case currently.

Among the barely-moving cars, standing in the slow lane (not that there was a perceptible difference at the moment), was a person, who could also be classified as a vehicle. Any dinosaur exceeding five meters in length (and capable of running thirty kilometers per hour) was legally considered a slow-moving vehicle. Since they were too big to use cars, they had to make do with their bodies. It was somewhat dehumanizing- not that dinosaurs were considered fully human in the first place. It was still a sensitive topic, especially for Quacey, the aforementioned individual stuck in this traffic jam.

Quacey was a blue Spinosaurus with black stripes and a red-streaked sail. He was technically one sixteenth human, but nobody really cared about that. Visible saurians were pretty much forced to identify as dinosaurs (unless they had distinct human features, of course). Half-and-halfs got their own category. Anyone outside of that range was pretty much screwed as far as culture was concerned. Of course, culture and race could no longer be strongly intertwined in such a diverse society. But physical appearance still had an unfair bearing on who was allowed to do what. The worst part about being mixed-species was that you were likely to be accepted by nobody, instead of being hated by one group in particular.

Putting all this aside, Quacey was lucky to be visibly spinosaurid, since it made casting easier. Pure Spinosaur roles were in high demand, especially since cleanly-bred dinosaurs were a minority. Of course, most of his roles were either predatory or villainous. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy playing a villain every now and then, but his roles tended to be less "superhero's greatest enemy" and more "suspicious bystander" or "gun fodder thug number three". He was still waiting for that one breakout role that would define his career. The closest he came was when his character in a sci-fi movie was turned into a meme for his delivery of the line "Argh!", which got him a panel at a minor comic expo, an interview on some obscure podcast, and five hundred followers on Twitter (which he subsequently lost after tweeting negatively about senator Daisy Top). At the moment, he was stuck waiting for a fame boost, and he sincerely hoped it was going to be a big one.

Worst case scenario, he'd discover he'd hit his peak with "Argh!".

As he thought about his career, he began to lag. He noticed the gap between him and the next car long after it had been created, and moved to fill it, not that occupying the space earlier would make a difference. This happened several times, until an equally distracted driver rammed into his ankle. The human stepped out of his vehicle, and Quacey was hit with the all-too-familiar spell of paranoia that came with human interaction. Instead of yelling, however, the man rushed forward with concern.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

Quacey lifted his foot tenderly. The vehicle hadn't been moving particularly fast, so the collision felt more like hitting his leg on a table than an actual car accident.

"I'm fine. Just a little surprised."

"Aw, man. You sure?"

"Positive."

Meanwhile, the cars behind them had begun to honk. The man rubbed the back of his neck guiltily.

"I'd better get back to my car. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was an honest mistake."

"Alright. See you later."

He hadn't meant to say that, probably, but his habit-driven phrase turned out to be accurate. They bumped into each other at a bar later that week, though this time, the "bumping" wasn't literal. Quacey didn't recognize the man at first, but he seemed to have made an impression, since he offered to buy him a drink. He prefaced this donation with, "You're the- guy I hit on the freeway." The awkward midsentence stumble had probably occurred through rethinking his use of the word "spinosaur" or just "dinosaur". It wasn't the kind of thing you were supposed to identify someone with, or at least not in this phrasing. Quacey didn't mind that kind of thing- most humans couldn't keep track of what _was_ and _wasn't_ appropriate, but the awkwardness of the slip-up made him wince. He hoped the man hadn't noticed. If he was trying to avoid such faux-pas', he was most likely willing to accept dinosaurs. Even if he wasn't experienced enough to overcome nasty impulses that had seeped into his vocabulary through osmosis, it was good that he was making an effort, at least.

Of course, Quacey was probably overthinking this. He had a tendency to do that. At least both parties were equally uncomfortable. That was something.

After a lengthy chat, however, they both grew more comfortable without realizing it. The man- his name was Sol- was a musician, specializing in Trumpinet. Once he got started on this topic, the words poured right out of him. During this discussion, they discovered quite a bit about each other, notably that they were both gay. Quacey didn't remember how it came up, but he was glad it did. He sensed that Sol was the rare person who was both compatible with him and _willing_ to be, which didn't happen often, he had to admit. A surprising amount of people were still unaccepting of dinosaurs, but things were getting better. It was nice to know that there was at least one person out there who might be interested in a relationship. Quacey enjoyed partaking in these moments of normality that were often denied to members of his species. Being shat on his whole life made him appreciate these simple pleasures, though he'd rather not have been shat on at all. There was no changing the past, unfortunately. The best he could do was look to the future, as Sol seemed to be doing.

"I'm saving up to buy my own club."

"Oh, where you can play Trumpinet?"

"Naw, naw. Trumpinet's not an original element of the Spunkstride genre or movement, and I want to keep it as close as possible."

Quacey raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, you like Spunkstride? Never much been a fan, myself. Why can't you incorporate Trumpinet if you're so good at it?"

"Partly authenticity, partly artistic vision. As soon as you tamper with a format, you make it about you, and I'd like to preserve the art form as a whole."

"Seems uncreative."

"Well, sure, but it's my choice. I mean, I may not like what people are doing to Spunkstride nowadays, but who am I to tell them their art is shit? It's all a matter of taste. As much as some of the stuff on the radio nowadays pisses me off, I've learned to outgrow my high school attitude of hatedom and focus on what I enjoy. If people do bad things, I learn from their mistakes or ignore them, since they're just artists trying to make it big, just like I am. We're not fighting in a war. Just because one side's dying doesn't mean it's a predator-prey relationship. Tigers are on the decline while mosquitos reproduce at a higher rate. We don't kill the mosquitos to save the tigers, because it's damn near impossible to erase something ubiquitous. We just gotta make what we like and accept that others will do the same, even if it's not what we want to see. No one's gonna agree one hundred percent on what's good or bad. Even if your audience is small, you gotta admit it feels good to provide something meaningful to those who c-"

"Excuse me."

The voice came from another table. A woman with a face not unlike that of a blowfish was glaring at the two of them. At first, Quacey feared this was some young specist who didn't want to see a Spino and a human getting along, but when she marched up to their table, she uttered the most baffling sentence Quacey had ever had the displeasure of hearing.

"Don't you know that you're insulting his culture, you piece of shit?"

After a few seconds, Quacey connected the dots, realizing her criticism was directed at Sol.

"Oh, I'm not an Oxalaia. I'm just a plain old Spinosaurus."

"Doesn't matter. You're a spinosaurid. Spinosaurids invented Spunkstride as a way to have a voice in the music industry."

Quacey wasn't sure how to go about engaging in such an odd conversation, but he raced through the possibilities, trying to find the most non-confrontational reply. It might be wise to preface it with an overly-polite introduction.

"With all due respect, Spunkstride was invented by Oxalaia. I know some Spinos have been involved in the movement over the years, but that's more recent, and besides, neither my family nor friends nor I have ties to that community."

"Doesn't matter. It's still a part of who you are."

Quacey wasn't sure how to proceed. On one hand, he was irked that his pleasant lunch date (if it could even be _called_ that) had been interrupted for something so trivial. He hated to admit it, but until this point, he'd been fantasizing about future encounters with Sol. He imagined them forming a relationship and joking about how they'd met in a car accident when others asked about their first encounter. Now, their first (unofficial) date was going to be remembered as the moment when some random human butted into their lives uninvited. He had been hoping to brush her off, but judging by her last comment, she had abandoned the idea that Quacey was a possible ally in this debate. It was funny how she seemed to be entering the conversation with the intent to defend him, only to speak over him. It was hard to take humans seriously whilst they spoke for a saurian abstract. It was a little dehumanizing. Quacey wasn't the kind of person who spoke up about the things that bothered him, which was why he was really hoping that Sol would find a way to get rid of the woman, or that she'd leave of her own volition. The latter wasn't looking like a probable outcome.

"Listen, me and my friend aren't trying to pick a fight," Sol stated calmly, but with a hint of venom, "We're just trying to enjoy our drinks, so if you would kindly leave us alone-"

"Did it occur to you that you're harming dinosaurs?"

"I understand the implications of what you're suggesting, but above all, I respect Spunkstride as a genre. I'm not doing this for myself or for a species. I'm doing this for the music."

"And I don't think he means anything by it," Quacey added, deciding to be bold and speak up, "It comes from a place of love. If he can find an audience for classic Spunkstride, it'll be beneficial to everyone who enjoys it as-"

"You're not an Oxalaia. You don't get to comment."

Quacey's mind snapped to two conclusions at once. Firstly, it was interesting that only now did the woman seem to care about his species. Second, the woman herself was not saurian in the slightest. It was perhaps best not to point out either of these facts, since it might stoke her rage.

"Could you please leave us alone?" Quacey muttered quietly, "This is really none of your business."

"Are you aware that your ancestors slaughtered dinosaurs?"

"They didn't, actually. I come from Madagascar. Dinosaurs didn't make it there until long after the initial conflict-"

"You're a human."

"You're a human, too."

"But I don't go stealing other people's intellectual property."

"You're wearing saurian jewelry . . ."

"Aren't you even a little concerned that you're being a selfish prick?!"

"Of _course_ I am! Every decent person is! But we try to get along even when there's so much wrong with this world!"

He pointed to a series of tables.

"That guy's eating a cow that's been ground up and flattened into a burger! That girl's using a phone that was built by underpaid workers! Your shoes are probably made in a sweatshop! Everything we do is tainted by a cruel act somewhere down the line, but we don't question it. It doesn't make it right, but that's reality. Why are you choosing to focus on my music, of all things?"

"BECAUSE WHAT YOU'RE DOING IS DISGUSTING!"

"SO WHY DON'T YOU DONATE MONEY TO SPUNKSTRIDE ARTISTS IF YOU CARE SO MUCH?! I'LL BET YOU'VE NEVER EVEN LISTENED TO A SINGLE SONG!"

"YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT!"

"YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT TRYING TO MAKE YOURSELF LOOK GOOD BY BRINGING EVERYONE ELSE DOWN!"

It was at that moment that Quacey burst into tears. He didn't expect to have such a pronounced emotion, but when he started thinking about how much he wanted to make a good first impression and how infrequently he ran into someone who was willing to be his friend, nevermind his _boyfriend_ , he couldn't stop himself from crying. His heart plummeted when he saw the worry in Sol's eyes. He must look like a wildly emotional teenager right now. Sol stood up and nodded to the bathroom.

"We should take a minute."

Quacey followed him hurriedly, trying not to make eye contact with the other customers, who were staring at him inconspicuously. He wished he had thought of retreating to a space where the woman could not follow before this whole mess came to a head. He shouldn't have allowed himself the opportunity to suffer through such a humiliating breakdown.

As soon as they entered the bathroom, Sol checked to make sure that they were alone, then turned to Quacey with a look of genuine concern, which was both charming and mortifying.

"Are you okay?"

Quacey tried to steady his voice.

"I'm fine. I don't know what came over me. I swear I'm not usually like this . . ."

After a moment of consideration, he sighed and rubbed his front paw.

"Okay, that was a lie. This is the third time this week I've had a breakdown. It's just getting so hard with all this shit piling up, you know? I haven't had a job of _any_ kind since last month, my rent is due in a few days- and I'm not sure I can weasel my way out of it like I did in my other flat, I keep getting these nasty looks from people at the casting agency . . . I guess I was just hoping that this would be the one thing that went right for me. I didn't expect some random lady to show up and ruin the best day I've had in a long time."

"Me neither, but shit happens. I caught someone pissing on my car last weekend. Some people have no respect for others."

Quacey wiped his eyes and stared at himself in the only mirror available to dinosaurs of his height.

"I can't imagine what you must be thinking right now. I probably seem like one of those people who throws a temper tantrum every time something goes wrong and makes everything about themselves-"

"Not at all. I _know_ you're not like that. And you can be sure that I'm not lying when I say you're nothing like those people, because we just _met_ one, so I have a frame of reference."

Quacey laughed, but it was more like air without any tonality.

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

Sol smiled warmly, but after a few seconds, he broke eye contact and glanced at the bathroom door.

"Do you think . . . Do you think she had a point?"

"She was behaving irrationally."

"I know, but that stuff about disrespecting . . . dinosaurs . . ."

Quacey realized that Sol was looking to him for guidance. The woman's comment had drawn attention to the one topic he didn't want to discuss. It was rare for a human to see a dinosaur for anything but their dinosaur-ness, but until now, Sol wasn't like the others. It had been pure bliss to escape that barrier, even for a moment. He hated the fact that the woman had planted a seed of doubt in Sol's mind, to the point where he was unsure of his connection to Quacey. Now that his dinosaur-ness was at the forefront, Sol was nervous, just like he had been when he almost slipped up during their greeting. But it was worse than before. A barrier had been created between the two of them, which Quacey found all the more tragic because it was ruining the openness he had been drawn to in the first place. And yes, perhaps a flicker of suspicion had surfaced at the mention of Sol's project, but it wasn't Quacey's primary focus. Here was a human who had been willing to treat a dinosaur as an equal- as he should, by all means- but now their dynamic had been altered (by a human, no less), and they were suddenly made aware of what they were, and why the society they lived in did not look fondly upon the existence of their relationship. It had been so wonderful to escape that awareness, but reality was not concerned with euphoric delusions, no matter how sweet. People were messy, and the mistakes of past generations could be felt even now, lingering like unseen phantoms that reminded modern lovers of the fact that the world was unfair, unjust, and generally shitty, and two people could never be _just in love_. For a moment, Quacey had transcended the shackles of his _What_ and become only the _Who_ of his identity. That being said, he did it by ignoring the uncomfortable implications of their interaction, and wasn't that a bad thing? Perhaps Sol was right about the unseen troubles of living an ordinary life. But how much ignorance was acceptable? Would it really contribute to the greater good? Was there a difference between forgiveness and forgetfulness? Was this blind love what social change was striving for in the first place, or was it a facsimile of bliss prone to crumbling when reality set in? Was there a better path to achieve a world without borders? Was he going about this the wrong way? He wasn't sure he could answer these questions, but regardless of how it had come about, he was positive that what he was feeling right now was the beginning of love, and as for Sol's concerns, he could not speak for all dinosaurs, but on an individual level, he knew one thing for certain:

"You've shown me respect by treating me like a real person. You don't shun me or patronize me because I'm a dinosaur. You've forgotten that I'm a Spinosaurus, just like I've forgotten that you're a human, and even if that's not the way things _should_ be, I'm too in love to care."

He leaned forward for an impulsive kiss, but the bathroom door swung open to reveal a woman- not the one from before- standing in the entrance with a panicked look on her face. Quacey and Sol backed away as she stepped in, blatantly ignoring the sign on the door.

"I would like to apologize for the incident that occurred at your table. I didn't mean for that to happen."

Sol frowned.

"What? Who are you? What are you doing here?"

She batted her eyes.

"I'm the narrator. I decided to intervene directly because the story went off on a tangent. I didn't realize that I had written myself into a corner, so when I saw what was happening, I decided the only course of action was to explain my predicament to you so you could go back to what you were doing."

Quacey's eye twitched.

"WHAT?!"

The narrator put her hands on her hips.

"You're in a FanFiction called Moon La La Light. I decided to write it when the brother of a famous director tweeted the title as a joke after that Academy Awards mishap, so I was contractually obligated to finish the damn thing a month later, when it wasn't even relevant anymore."

Sol's jaw dropped.

"The hell? . . ."

"I know, it doesn't make any sense. But I promised I'd write it, and here we are. I can't believe I let you prattle on like that. People are going to hate me for it."

"Why?" Quacey asked.

The narrator shrugged.

"That's just what happens when you try to tackle existential problems. Anyway, as much as I'd like to make some sort of commentary on this issue, I'm not prepared to deal with the consequences, so I have to struggle through a meaningless story to compensate. It won't be easy, but I'll do it."

Quacey and Sol exchanged a look, then spoke at the same time.

"Why?"

The narrator gave an audible sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Look, the rules I make for myself are arbitrary, but I choose to stick to them, nonetheless. I wish I could get excited over this bland nonsense, but I can't. At least I'm not ranting anymore. Nobody likes a pompous art-tiste."

Quacey tilted his head to the side and approached her, looking like a giant, blue puppy.

"Why are you afraid to express your opinion?"

She bit her lip and shrunk into the corner of the room, picking her fingernails nervously.

"Well . . . It's complicated. People have a tendency to look at everything through a black-and-white perspective, so even if I try to be nuanced about it, it's gonna piss people off."

Sol crossed his arms. The narrator crept towards the door, but he cut her off.

"Listen, lady. I don't know what's going on in your life, but it shouldn't concern us. You sound unstable, and even if you _are_ our narrator, that doesn't give you license to tamper with our existence, understand?"

"I do. I promise, your story will be boring from now on."

Quacey scratched his head.

"But why write it if you have no urge to do so?"

The narrator scuffed her shoe against the tile, then clasped her hands behind her back.

"Well . . . I wasn't _always_ disinterested in this story. I was excited to make this big, extravagant musical FanFiction using elements from both La La Land and Moonlight, but when I saw the latter, something terrible happened. I came home, found a stream of the movie, and braced myself for inspiration, but I was horrified when I realized-"

 _It started off slow_

 _But I waited patiently still_

 _I gave it an hour_

 _But then I turned sour_

 _An emptiness Moonlight won't fill_

 _I wasn't quite snoring_

 _But still found it boring_

 _Aside from a couple good scenes_

 _For people like me_

 _Can't trust what we see_

 _I don't know what facial stuff means_

"Okay . . ."

 _But singing breaks borders_

 _And transcends disorders_

 _Like mine, so the musical's fine_

 _But since I am white_

 _I can't say it feels right_

 _To support this opinion of mine_

"Are you gonna go into the chorus or just-"

 _And people assuming_

 _This prejudice looming_

 _Is based on my race, not my mind_

 _So if I enjoy_

 _La La Land more, oh boy_

 _I am terrified of what I'll find_

"Just gonna repeat the same verse over and over again, huh?"

 _My crossover story_

 _Would not have the glory_

 _I hoped to inspire with my voice_

 _My Twitter persona_

 _And Carlos Bayona_

 _Both made it so I had no choice_

"Well, it's not like you-"

 _I promised my fans_

 _That my FanFiction plans_

 _Wouldn't end in a messy cliché_

 _But after some thinking_

 _(And unhealthy drinking)_

 _I realized through my dismay_

 _That having a taste_

 _Does not depend on race_

 _(I'm sorry for that awful rhyme)_

"I forgive you. Now, can we just-"

 _To us, any movie_

 _Can be drab or groovy_

 _So let's sing it one more time_

"Is this the chorus, finally?"

 _Here's to the middle ground_

 _Sun and Moon, color, sound_

 _Film is for everyone_

 _When all is said and done_

"Oh good, is the song over?-"

 _So if you are white_

 _And you enjoy Moonlight_

 _It doesn't mean that you're alone_

"I wish I was."

 _And if you're like me_

 _Then you clearly can see_

 _That there is no reason to moan_

"Please stop."

 _We all have our treasures_

 _And some guilty pleasures_

 _It doesn't mean you're right or wrong_

 _The sun and the moon_

 _Are a similar tune_

 _And humans all dance to one song_

"Very deep. Now, how about we-"

 _Here's to our compromise_

 _Sharing the same blue skies_

 _Here's to our different views_

 _We have the right to choose_

"Can I choose to stop listening to you?"

 _It's not 'cause I'm white_

 _That I don't like Moonlight_

"Whatever you say."

 _Although it might be my disease_

"Even if you're setting up a rhyme, that's an inaccurate term . . ."

 _I'm far on spectrum_

 _Which doesn't rhyme with anything_

 _I'm generally easy to please_

"Christ . . ."

 _Don't say I'm a loser_

 _Don't be my abuser_

 _It's just one small film after all_

"Yes, it is, so can we maybe stop singing about it?"

 _If I had my pick_

 _I can tell you quite quick_

 _Zootopia should win the brawl_

"Furry."

 _So here's to the films outside_

 _Everything we denied_

 _Some films don't get their due_

 _I liked Arrival too_

"Arrival was great, yeah."

 _The Oscars are nothing to me_

 _The movies that I like to see_

 _Don't please the Academy_

 _Just like the Lego Movie_

When she was finished her song, Quacey and Sol exchanged a look. After a moment, the narrator shrugged.

"That's my theory, anyway. Maybe I didn't enjoy Moonlight because I have trouble reading faces. Maybe I didn't enjoy it because I prefer fantasy, and especially animated fantasy. Above all, though, I think I was disappointed that it wasn't a love story- I mean, it was _about_ love- but I wanted to see a classic romance."

"Like in La La Land?"

She shrugged.

"Didn't like the romance in La La Land either. If you think about it, both movies were about failed romances that if done again could have been true love, but since the relationships both died, well . . . I guess it's not my kind of movie. I like a happy ending. It's not that I don't like _unhappy_ endings, but I've seen enough of them in real life that it makes me lose all hope. The best part of Film is that it brings our fantasies to life. We can escape to a world where everyone gets along, and conflict is resolved in a clever or poetic way. That's the kind of story I want. That being said, I'm just one person, and my tastes are different from those of the neurotypicals. So they say, anyway. But everyone likes something different, and as much as I don't understand how anyone can enjoy Theodore Rex or Batman and Robin, somewhere out there, there are people who adore the films I dislike, and neither one of our viewpoints is more valid than the other. It's all a matter of opinion."

Quacey narrowed his eyes.

"But what does this have to do with race?"

"Nothing, really. That's my point. Sure, the culture we grow up in might affect our views, possibly in ways that we can never truly escape or understand, but you know, I have Asperger's, and I generally don't like movies about Asperger's because I'd rather be watching dragons or dinosaurs. Put a dinosaur in a movie and I'll watch it. That's just me."

"Yeah, okay, but have people actually accused you of liking La La Land _just_ because you're white?"

"I've seen others accused of this, and I don't want to fall into the same trap. La La Land isn't even my favorite movie of this year . . . last year, now- but the point is that I liked La La Land and was ambivalent towards Moonlight, which has unfortunate implications. In 2015, I thought Jurassic World was better than Mad Max- which I found boring- and there wasn't nearly as much uproar over it. I'm not saying people should ignore race in film- hell, if the roles were reversed, _I'd_ be suspicious of me too- but I don't want people to speak for me or apply false interpretations to my preferences in some sort of Freudian psychoanalytic deconstruction or whatever."

"Something tells me you've never taken a psychology class," Sol muttered.

"Shush. My point is, people can like or dislike a movie for a multitude of reasons, some of which don't make any sense. To say it has something to do with my race, like I'm genetically programmed to like La La Land, is ridiculous, and while there's something to be said about our preferences being shaped by life experience, I don't think La La Land was any whiter than the rest of the nominees. Hollywood isn't exactly a hub of diversity, you may be surprised to hear. I'm glad that Moonlight won, because representation is important, but it's kind of depressing to know that these stories are rarely allowed to exist in the first place. I wish we lived in a world where people could just be themselves, where their existence didn't have to be considered a bold political move. But I guess we've screwed up so badly that just _being there_ is more than some people get, and that's shitty. It's unacceptable that we've gone this long without mending these issues."

Quacey blinked.

"Okay, but what was the point of all of this?"

The narrator blinked.

"Honestly, I forgot halfway through my speech. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with world peace, though."

Quacey rubbed his head.

"Wait, I'm confused. Is anyone _actually_ mad at you for not liking Moonlight, or are you just afraid of speaking your mind because of what could _potentially_ happen?"

". . . Probably the second reason. To be fair, though, I have a lot of controversial opinions regarding Film. For instance, I think that Rear Window is a masterpiece and Vertigo sucks by comparison."

Sol frowned.

"Yeah, you're a real rebel."

The narrator shrugged.

"What can I say? Whenever you have an opinion about a movie, positive or negative, someone is bound to disagree with you, and passionately. It's kinda flattering to the medium, when you think about it. If Film was a person, they'd be amazed by how zealously people argue about it."

"Sure," Sol said dismissively, "But what's the moral of this story?"

The narrator rubbed her chin.

"I dunno. I guess it's that people will fight over art of any kind, and while politics may be involved, that's just one piece of the puzzle. Human beings are complicated, messy, and passionate. Same goes for dinosaurs. That's just the way the world is, but I think it would be better if we could accept other opinions- not by agreeing with them- but by understanding that when it comes to likes and dislikes, there's no single piece of art that can have a unanimous rating."

"Are you racist, though?"

"No, of course not. I hate everybody equally."

"Oh."

She smiled.

"You know, I'm not worried about this story's reception anymore. It's just a FanFiction, after all. It's not gonna change the world. Hell, I don't think anyone made it this far into the story. Nobody's interested in a crossover between Moonlight and La La Land in the first place."

"So are you gonna leave in that bit where you got out of control?"

"Sure. Who cares, anyway? What few friends I have wouldn't let something this trivial ruin our relationship, and pretty much everyone else hates me already, so why not just publish it and hope for the best? If people don't like me because of my opinions, that's their business. Cruel words hurt, but I think part of growing up is realizing that some people will bring you down no matter how hard you try to please them, and it's not worth it to roll in the mud for someone who ultimately isn't going to accept the kind of person you are. I'm happy with my circle of friends. We coexist with the Normals just fine. Even if there's a bit of conflict, in the end, opinions will be opinions, except if they're mine, in which case they are facts."

She blinked.

"That's, like, the tenth monologue of this story. I should probably quit while I'm ahead. Now that I'm done talking about La La Land and Moonlight, I can allow myself to be inspired by _other_ movies. I don't think much else came out around that time of year, though. Well, except for Bye Bye Man. That looked like a shitty movie. And how ridiculous is it that repeating the name 'Bye Bye Man' will summon a murderous entity? I mean, I could say 'Bye Bye Man' all day, and I guarantee that nothing bad would ha-"


End file.
